hold

We sit among our largest suitcases, surrounded by piles of clothing, shoes, ziploc bags holding bottles of spray sunscreen and other toiletries that could spill during a transatlantic flight. I tuck a canister of shoe polish between dress shirts and running shorts. The abridged version of my husband's earthly possessions, or at least everything he needs minus the fully stocked three bedroom apartment awaiting him in his new home, will need to fit in these two oversized black suitcases. 

I have been here before. In fact, during the twenty five years of intermittent travel and deployments, I've picked up a trick or two with packing. Like rolling his boxers and wedging them into crevices made by stacks of pants or sweatshirts. And stuffing rolled socks into sneakers and dress shoes. All to create the most space for the most amount of items. Within the allotted weight limit, of course. 

But isn't that what we are always trying to do? We arrange and rearrange our lives to fit the myriad of demands and obligations we feel pressured to receive into our lives. I discover a mound of sleep apnea equipment that I hadn't realized needed to go with my dear man. And yes, I found a place for each and every hose, mouthpiece and water tray. Packing is like filling a dishwasher basket- you can always find room. Until you can't. And then its all hand wash after that. 

What things didn't fit? Scuba socks, chocolate snacks. peanut butter (who knows if he'll find them on the shelves in this country?) and the 14th, 15th and 16th pairs of boxers (there is a laundry machine in the apartment). We had to set priority on dress clothes and toiletries, his sleep apnea machine and laptops. Then photos of the family. Everything else had to follow. 

The youngest folds ties while another tucks a carefully handwritten note to her Dad into the piles of folded shirts in one suitcase. The third comes to me and tucks her arms around my waist, burying her head into my chest. With only two days of preparation and packing, everything feels compressed. Tight. Rushed. What is there time for? We snuggled together on the couch earlier to watch some videos about venomous spiders and the world's cutest animals. Then we laughed until our sides ache watching tik tok videos by a physical comedian. My oldest daughter asks to play cards with her dad. 

We are rushing to make memories, in these last hours, minutes, until he leaves. As if all of the days, weeks and months were not enough. Because they weren't. If we didn't believe this was God's best for him, for our family, we wouldn't choose this. But we did. And we are holding each moment with him.